


A king, two kids and a warlock

by AlyaG



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Also fluff and kids, Angst and Comfort, Arthur wakes up, Arthur will become the father he never got to be, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Kid Fic, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 05, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-10-28 18:57:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20783501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyaG/pseuds/AlyaG
Summary: It’s been 1500 years since Arthur died, and while waiting for him, Merlin also had a life.To be exact, he had not one but two kids.So how does everything work when Arthur wakes up and has to deal with Merlin’s life without him and his children?And what of the feelings that they had for each other back in Camelot, and may still be strong?





	1. The expected but somewhat inconvenient return of the once and future king

It was raining. That itself was not unusual. It was, after all, England.  
However, what was rare indeed was the sight of a blond man lying at the shore of a lake. Especially since it was a man no one had seen in about 1500 years.  
He was tall, and built like a warrior, like no man had been built since wars had stopped being fought in battlefields with swords to be fought in trenches and behind guns.  
The first person to see it was, strangely enough, a child. Said child was five years of age, and of course, the first thing he did was yell rather loudly until the closest adult available responded. The adult was, in this case, the boy’s father, and he was understandably surprised when he saw an actual human being in full suit of armor laying in the shore of the otherwise perfectly normal lake. He called the emergency services, and the blond warrior was taken away to the hospital, presumably in a coma.  
The boy and his father, as you would expect, came back home later that night, and as the father told his wife about the whole ordeal, the boy chose to write the essay he had forgotten to write before asking his father to go for a walk about the magical appearance of a blond knight— he couldn’t be a king because he had no crown, obviously—. It wasn’t a long essay, since he was five, but it was very well written, and he was very proud of it. That was the reason why he chose to read it out loud in class the day after, and got a full round of applause from his classmates.  
Well, almost all of them.  
A black-haired, blue-eyed five year old girl did not believe his story, and she chose to tell him so during recess, using the following, harsh and heartless words:  
“You are a big liar, Thomas Brown!”  
To which Thomas chose to answer:  
“Am not, and I have a mummy!”  
The girl, still understandable sensitive when her mother’s absence was mentioned, decided to express her psychologically logical anger by jumping on top of the poor boy and slapping him repeatedly in the face.

Which is why, about and hour later and seventeen hours after the blond knight had been found, Merlin Draig waltzed into the headmaster’s office at the kindergarten his daughter attended to discuss her attacking a classmate. Thomas Brown’s mother, a woman who was English in every sense of the word, while not showing it on her face, became flustered upon seeing the young man, a lot fitter than he had been 1500 years prior, walking determinedly towards her. She was so distracted by him she almost forgot to be outraged, which almost cost her her “uptight English lady” club membership. Luckily for her, Thomas chose that moment to whine, reminding her of the actual matter at hand.  
“Mr Draig!” She said, and even though her tone could not be technically described as loud, no one in the corridor missed her voice.  
“Mrs Brown”, he answered, gifting her a sweet smile very few people could see through. “I believe our children have had a disagreement”.  
“Disagreement!” She spoke again, and everyone listening had to restrain themselves in order to not cover their ears and hide their heads in the ground like ostriches. “Your beast of a daughter attacked my poor baby!”  
While Thomas didn’t particularly enjoy being called a baby, he did appreciate his mother’s rather large presence between him and Mr Draig when his face became utterly cold and his eyes seemed suddenly made of steel.  
“Do not call my daughter a beast, Mrs Brown” he said, his voice cold enough to sink the Titanic, no need to threaten or explain what would happen if she ever committed that mistake again. “I’m going in to see Mr Andrews now, and we’ll talk when I come out again, but I would appreciate if you didn’t insult my daughter in front of her. She is, after all, five”.  
That said, Merlin entered the office and was welcomed by two small arms surrounding his legs and a small voice saying “Daddy” in a tone that was usually followed by crying. In order to prevent that, Merlin picked up his daughter in his arms and let her hide her face in his neck.  
“Hello, Mr Draig”, the rather young and rather Merlinsexual headmaster said, and Merlin smiled his sweetest smile for him and sat down, the bundle in his arms comfortably draped over his lap now.  
“Mr Andrews”, Merlin answered. “I hope this is not as bad as Mrs Brown seems to think it is”.  
The headmaster shrugged, looking lost, and pointed to the small octopus hanging onto her father, which meant she hadn’t said a word about the incident.  
“Sweetheart”, Merlin said, trying to get his daughter to look at him. “Can you tell us what happened?”  
She shook her head, and Merlin sighed. “Sweetheart, please”.  
This time, she shrugged, which was not much progress, but a lot better than no progress at all.  
“I said...” she began, her voice so small Merlin had the urge to slay a dragon, or a Mrs Brown. “I said that Thomas was a liar because of his knight story and he said...” she whimpered, and Merlin held her a bit tighter. “He said that he had a mummy”.  
Ah, of course. Merlin and the headmaster looked at each other in understanding. She was a very calm child, and the only thing that could make her consider violence was mentioning her mother.  
“Go home, Mr Draig”, the headmaster said. “Take her home. I’ll deal with Mrs Brown”.  
Merlin thanked him with a look and got back up. When he left the office, he pointedly ignored the raging dragon-woman waiting in the hall and took his daughter to his car. She was probably trying to stop herself from crying, so Merlin but her down very gently and asked about Thomas Brown’s knight story in order to distract her.  
And that was how Merlin, the most powerful warlock to ever exist, known as Emrys to druids and creatures of the old magic, learned the news of his king’s return.  
The first thing he did, once he was finally home and his daughter was happily playing in the backyard, the whole business with Thomas Brown forgotten for the moment, was go online searching for news of a blond knight found in the shore of the lake of Avalon—not that anyone called it that anymore, unless you were speaking to an old person or a magic nerd—. Then, he called the hospital mentioned in the article he found and was dismissed as a journalist. That, naturally, could not stand.  
Merlin lived in a rather large house, with two floors and a small portion of country surrounding it, and so he had to walk for exactly ten minutes to take his daughter to the neighbor’s house, a nice, nosy, classically and elegantly English old lady named Mrs Rinaldi and come back to get his car. 

“PWY WYT TI? BETH DDIGWYDDODD?” was the first thing he heard upon arriving at the hospital. As one would expect from a man who’d been sleeping for 1500 years, Arthur was not taking kindly the fact that three men, taller but considerably less determined, were trying to get him to sleep again.  
“BETH YW HWNNA? BLE MAE MERLIN?” Merlin was happy to watch his king struggle with said men up until his name was called.  
“I’m here, sire” he said, softly, in the same Old Brittonic his king was speaking. Even though he hadn’t screamed, and Arthur’s voice was considerably louder than his, everyone in the room turned around to look at him.  
“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, looking obviously relieved to see him. “Explain to these men that I will not let them stab me with those small swords!”  
Merlin tilted his head and directed a small, apologetic smile at the nurses. “I’m sorry about my friend, gentlemen. He’s welsh, very hungover and terrified of needles”.  
Seeing how Arthur had calmed down, the nurses let him go and shrugged.  
“He’s alright”, one of them said. “A bloody miracle that he doesn’t have hypothermia if you ask me”, he shook his head and looked towards his colleagues for sympathy. “Swimming in the lake in November. Bloody Scots”.  
Merlin chose not to correct the man and walked up to Arthur. He looked calm, but his stomach was in the back of his mouth, and his heart hadn’t beaten so fast since that time he’d dropped his daughter when she was a baby.  
“Merlin, explain yourself”, Arthur demanded, ever the commanding king, and Merlin was suddenly twenty again, watching his best friend and love of his life die before him. The feeling was too much for him and he dropped to his knees, his hands on his face trying to conceal the tears.  
“Merlin?” Arthur asked, crouching by his side, and Merlin could not believe for the life of him that his friend was actually there, there, after all those years, after everything...  
“How long?” Arthur asked, and even after all these years, he just understood. “Merlin, how long?”  
And in the middle of that hospital hallway, people dying and being born around them, Merlin looked up at his king, and it was like there was no one else in the world, so he answered in a heartbreakingly small voice: “Fifteen hundred years, sire”.  
Arthur looked understandably shocked. One could even guess why he fell on his arse like a toddler walking for the first time, putting his hands on either side of his head and whispering “fifteen hundred years” repeatedly.  
Upon that visual, Merlin’s paternal instincts kicked in and he grabbed Arthur by the shoulders to get him to stand up. He dried his eyes with the backs of his sleeves and he managed to look his king in the eye.  
“We’ll talk about that and everything else later, sire. Now, we must find somewhere safe for you to recover. Come now.” And he took his hand. It was an unconscious gesture, born of years of leading a child in that manner, and he didn’t even think of it. The once and future king, on the other hand, stared at their joined hands for a few moments before allowing his servant to guide him out of the hospital.  
Naturally, the car was a whole different ordeal, and after the thorough examination Arthur put the vehicle through before getting in, Merlin didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had probably arrived at the hospital in a larger, louder, ambulance.  
“Fifteen hundred years”, Arthur kept on saying, shaking his head slightly. “Gods, Merlin, how are you...?” Suddenly his eyes were wide open as he remembered what he had learned shortly before dying: “ You’re a sorcerer!”  
“Yes, sire”, he answered. “I’m glad that you remembered. It would’ve been a bother having to break it to you again”.  
Arthur huffed. “You’re not being very nice, after waiting fifteen hundred years for me”.  
“One longs for what one does not have...”, he began, and then he looked at Arthur and smiled “...until one has it again.”  
“Merlin, you’re risking a training with the…” Arthur began, and then he seemed to remember that he no longer had the power, means or obligation to train. His face became solemn and he was very quiet for the rest of the ride.  
Merlin took advantage of the rare silence to stare at him and trying to figure out how to say what he had to say. Finally, he decided to go for bluntness and said:  
“Sire, there’s something you must know.”  
Arthur looked at him wearily. “What now? Don’t tell me men now wear skirts”  
Merlin pursed his lips—that matter would remain to be discussed— and shook his head. “No, sire. This is more relevant than that.”  
“What, are you married?”  
“No. But I do have children”  
“What?”


	2. Arthur is quite fed up with being woken up by members of this bloody family looking for probably nonexistent woodworm.

“Dad, could you please explain who this bloke is?”  
The person who’d spoken was a tall, gangly teenager, probably under sixteen, who had Merlin’s dark hair and two emerald green eyes. Merlin’s son, Arthur thought, finding it hard to believe. Who on Earth would have married Merlin?  
‘You’ a voice inside of him answered, and Arthur was partially glad to know that that, at least, hadn’t changed after all those years. Then he realized that the child had spoken in a language he was able to understand, and not whatever gibberish the men at the place Merlin had called hospital had been babbling in.  
“This, my dear Bal, is Arthur”, Merlin answered, smiling broadly at his son, who was looking rather dumbfounded.  
“What? This one?” Bal asked, glaring at Arthur. “You’re serious? He doesn’t look like what I imagined when you talked about King Arthur”.  
Knowing Arthur’s temperament, Merlin chose that moment to intervene:  
“Yes, yes, Bal, we know you’re a rebellious little fucker. Now go fetch your sister from Mrs Rinaldi’s”.  
“I was wondering where the little tick had fucked off to”, Bal said, leaving through the door. His father yelled after him: “Don’t call your sister a tick! And don’t swear!” Once he was gone, Merlin began muttering under his breath and picking up after him, a scene so familiar Arthur began to feel dizzy.  
“Merlin”, he said. “We need to talk”.  
Merlin stopped dead what he was doing and stared at him, his eyes so ancient and unfamiliar that Arthur had to look away. “Yes, we do”, his former manservant—for it was clear that Merlin was no longer just that—finally answered. “But we’ll do it after the kids are asleep. They don’t need to hear the whole story just yet”.  
As strange as it was to see Merlin being so authorative, Arthur found that he—even though he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it—craved it, that mindless obedience his father had expected and that he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Because it had been a bloody long time, hadn’t it? And that meant...  
“Guinevere”, Arthur whispered, and when Merlin looked him in the eye, the pain he saw there was enough to know. “Oh, God... Leon and... They’re all...”  
“They were happy”, Merlin said, his voice barely audible, so lost in distant memories and people that he seemed almost unreachable to Arthur. “Even after you were gone, they were happy”. He was going to say something else, but two voices were heard outside of the house and suddenly the competent father snapped back into place, staring at Arthur assessingly.  
“Sire, maybe you would like to wait for me in the living room”, he suggested, and Arthur knew that he was being given a choice. He could meet Merlin’s other child right then, with grief still settling deep within him, or he could wait. He chose wisely and left, pretending not to hear the man he’d thought he’d known speak to the people he’d filled his life with.  
His thoughts turned, naturally, to Guinevere. Had she gotten married again? A small, cruel little part of him hoped she hadn’t, that she’d stayed a grieving widow for the rest of her life, but most of him wanted to believe she’d found happiness in her life. When thoughts of Gwen became too painful to bear, he turned to Merlin. He was still processing the knowledge that his manservant had been a warlock—and a powerful one at that—the whole time.  
Then it hit him.  
The tavern.  
All those times... how Merlin was allegedly drinking his way through life and yet didn’t seem to be able to hold his liquor. Had he ever really been to the tavern alone? Or had Gaius been unable to come up with a different excuse for his absence? How much had Merlin done for him? How much?  
“How much?” He asked, soul weary and eyes open for the very first time, when Merlin waltzed into the room. “How much did you do for me?”  
‘I am a sorcerer, I have magic... And I use it for you Arthur, only for you’, he’d said all those centuries ago, when they’d been little more than children in armors, and he had been dying and all he had been able to think was ‘oh God I didn’t tell him. I told Gwen but I never told him’.  
“All of it”, Merlin answered, and his eyes were so ancient and so tired Arthur had to look away. “I did it all for you, Arthur, because you were the one and future king, meant to bring magic back to Camelot. And because you were my friend”.  
‘Yes, I was,’ he thought. ‘Still am. I am still the same man I was 1500 years ago, Merlin, but you are not. I have stayed frozen in time while you lived for ages.’  
“I was the old sorcerer”, Merlin kept talking, and it was like a dam had been broken inside of him because suddenly he just wouldn’t stop. “I tried to save Uther but there were other magics attacking him and I couldn’t save him. I saved you every time you were under magical attack or poisoned. I saved Gwen, Morgana and Mordred a few times, and I deeply regretted doing so for the last two. Lancelot knew I had magic. I killed Morgana. The spirit of your mother Morgause showed you was true. I am Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, the last Dragonlord and last guardian of Camelot”.  
Arthur didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. There were so many things he had to say. So many questions. So many truths he didn’t want to uncover.  
“Tell me”, he said, finally, making the choice of a true king; to face the truth, even when the truth was terrifying. And so Merlin began talking, at the very beginning, their first meeting.  
“I always wondered about that”, Arthur said. “Why you had been stupid enough to threaten me like that. Turns out you could have taken me apart with less than one blow.”  
Merlin gave him a small smile, and suddenly he looked eighteen again, his eyes sparkling with the mischief Arthur hadn’t known he’d missed.  
“I could take you apart with half a thought now”, the sorcerer said, and Arthur had to laught at that.  
“Leave the threats to me, Merlin, and get on with your story”.  
And so they talked the whole night through, like friends who hadn’t seen each other in forever, reminiscing about the old times and ignoring the pain and grief they brought, leaving it for later, when they were alone with their thoughts in the dark.  
By the time Merlin was finished with the events that had happened while Arthur lived, it was daytime, and the king was tired. One would think that after 15 centuries of forced sleep one wouldn’t have to rest any further, but it seemed Arthur’s body was asking for mercy and another visit to the land of dreams.  
He let Merlin walk him up to an empty room, take him out of his armor and give him a night shirt and pants he called pajamas. He pretended not to notice Merlin running his hands over the scar on his lower chest, an amazed look on his face, and he stopped himself from ruffling his hair and telling him it would be alright.  
Finally, he went to sleep just after he heard an extremely young voice calling for Merlin rather demandingly:  
“Daddy, I need to dress for school and my style is rubbish without you!”  
Merlin smiled upon hearing that. “Sorry, sire”, he said. “I am called away by a higher authority”.  
Come on, Arthur thought. Anyone would smile at that. “Indeed you are”, he conceded.  
Merlin left, and Arthur’s face fell to his pillow like a stone. Or his father that one time he’d fallen off his horse. Wait a moment. Merlin had let his father marry a troll! He would get it once he...!

“Are you awake”.  
You might wonder about the lack of a question mark in that question. Well, you see, the voice Arthur heard was not really asking, but rather stating a reality it hoped to be true rather strongly. He opened one eye. He saw a blue eye staring right back at him. ‘Listening for woodworm?’ was the first thing that came to his mind. Damned Merlin, he—wait, Merlin’s nose was not that small. And his eyes had never looked so candid. Arthur opened another eye and looked at the face before him. It was a little girl. A black-haired, blue-eyed little girl who looked much like what Merlin would’ve looked like if he had been a girl.  
“You are awake!” the little girl exclaimed, in an ‘I-knew-it’ tone that was torn between annoying and adorable.  
“I am now”, Arthur answered, and he forced himself to sit on his bed. The little girl climbed up beside him and sat with her legs crossed, tilting her head to the side to look at him.  
“You’re him”, she whispered, voice full of wonder. “You’re Daddy’s King Arthur. The one from the books and the stories”.  
“Books and stories?” Arthur questioned.  
“Well, yes, I can’t read yet, but everyone knows about you and your circle table”.  
“¿You mean my round table?”  
She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. Daddy usually gets too sad to talk about it by the time we get to the table.”  
Arthur felt like he’d lost control of the situation, if he’d ever had it, and so he decided to go back to the basics.  
“What’s your name?”  
She smiled at him, and Arthur felt good about himself for a reason that escaped his understanding. “Vevvy”, she answered. “Daddy wanted to call me Hunith, but mummy told him she would divorce him if he allowed her child to be bullied because of her name”.  
Arthur had wondered about that. “Where’s your mother?”  
The girl shrugged again and looked down, and Arthur’s heart sank. “She died.”  
“My mother died too”, Arthur said, his tone softer than it’d ever been. “I never met her”.  
“Me neither”, the girl explained, pouting but looking at him again. “Daddy tells me stories but it’s not the same. At least I think it isn’t”.  
“My father never talked about my mother”, Arthur said. “But I heard she was the kindest soul to ever live”.  
“My mummy was the kindest too! I’m sure they’re friends now”.  
Arthur felt a small smile forming on his lips. “I’m sure they are”.  
She looked doubtful for a moment before saying: “I’m sorry your daddy never talked about her”.  
“Me too”.  
Just then, when Arthur had run out of things to say to a five year old, her older brother stepped in, looking as spiteful as the day before.  
“Vev, come on, you have to go to piano class”, he said, and his sister jumped of the king’s bed and ran away after a whispered ‘goodbye’. She seemed terrified of her brother, and something within Arthur wanted to shove him against the wall for making her feel like that.  
“You shouldn’t talk to her like that”, he couldn’t help but saying, and the teenager gave him a murderous look filled with a hatred saved for when you’re fifteen and full of acne.  
“Don’t blabber on about shit you don’t understand, you dusty, ancient king”, he answered.  
Arthur roared with laughter. “Is that the best you can do, boy?” He mocked. “By the time I was fifteen, if I had given a comeback as weak as that one, my knights would’ve thrown me to the lake”.  
Bal tilted his head in a meaner version of his sister’s gesture and smiled.  
“Too bad they’re all dead.”  
Arthur felt rage build inside of him, but Merlin walked in before he could do anything about it.  
“Bal, that’s enough”, he said, and his authorative tone was... new. “Go take Vevvy to Miss Marian’s house”.  
Arthur’s disaproval at that decision must’ve been audible, because Merlin talked again: “He’s all bark and no bite. And he’s kind to her when they’re alone”.  
“I hope you’re right”, he said moments before realizing how deeply condescending it was to judge a man and presume to know his children better than he did. Fortunately for him, Merlin chose to let it go and gestured towards the door.  
“We have to cover what happened in Camelot after you left”.  
Left. He hadn’t left. He’d been killed. Or put to sleep. He should ask Merlin about it.  
“Yes, we do”, he answered instead, getting up and joining his former manservant for a cup of tea, allowing himself to stay in his “pajamas”, which was proof of how much he’d let himself go, if you asked him.

It turned out Guinevere had found love again, in the arms of a foreign prince. She’d been a great queen, and their children had reigned over Camelot up until the bloody norsemen had arrived. He had warned his father about them, once, and Uther had disregarded him as a sorry little brat scared of his own shadow. It was a strange feeling, being historically proven right over your father and not having him there to gloat.  
Leon had remained loyal to Gwen to his death, and he had been put to rest after a nice, tranquil old age, before the wars had begun again.  
It hurt Arthur’s heart to think about them dying, but it felt so unreal he almost didn’t believe it, like he would wake up any day now and find himself back in Camelot, Guinevere’s sleepy smile welcoming him back to the world of the awake and...  
“I have history books”, Merlin said. “Some. The best ones. I gathered them in case you ever...”  
“Came back”, Arthur completed. “But why am I back?”  
Merlin shrugged, and it looked like he’d stopped wondering such things himself a long time ago. “I thought you would come back in World War I, and World War II, and when it looked the world was going to destroy itself, but you didn’t”. Even though there was no recrimination in those words, Arthur felt like a failure.  
“There must be something happening”, he said.  
“Albion’s greatest need”, Merlin whispered. “Let’s hope we figure out what it is in time to meet it.”


	3. Let’s play ‘how-long-we-can-avoid-talking-about-my-wife-and-mother-of-my-children’, which is apparently, Merlin’s new favorite game.

A week later, Arthur had a pretty good idea of what had happened in the last 1500 years, broadly speaking. He had been cooped up in his room, pointedly avoiding Merlin and his children, reading whatever history book he could find and trying to stop jumping every time Merlin’s horseless carriage passed by his window.

Merlin must’ve been keeping the children—and himself—away, because the king remained undisturbed. It was nice to have time to think and come to terms with his new reality, but it was also awfully quiet for someone used to a noisy court. Gwen had been unable to be completely quiet, even if she wasn’t speaking; she would hum, or whistle, or simply produce small noises while moving things around. Now that he was alone, he found himself missing them.

He was able to lay down in his bed and stay there for hours, something that would’ve been completely impossible when he was king. It was a strange feeling, but then again, he hadn’t felt like himself since he’d woken up.

He felt trapped, like a mouse in a jar of cream trying to get away, struggling against something he couldn’t see. Maybe it would be better like that, he allowed himself to think for a moment. Maybe he wasn’t needed anymore, and he’d been brought back simply to die.

It was that exact thought that caused a change in him. He had been brought back, hadn’t he? There had to be a reason. He was needed. He wasn’t obsolete after all.

The same day he came to that realization was the day he met Mrs Rinaldi.

He’d been reading all day, his books magically—quite literally—translated from that language Merlin called “English” to his own. Suddenly, he heard a door close and then a lot of rather determined steps headed in his direction. He knew heels when he heard them, and he doubted Merlin had begun wearing them—although apparently that was a thing now, which he found interesting and rather brave—, so he knew that a stranger was approaching.

Seconds later, he heard Merlin’s appealing voice—he knew it from the others because it made him want to put his sword through whoever was denying his requests—. He couldn’t gather what he was saying, since he spoke English, but he got up from the bed and prepared for anything.

When the door opened, he expected a dragon.

What he found, however, was an old lady.

She was short, even shorter than many of the ladies he’d known had been, but she looked incredibly determined. Her face was a map of her life, her nose looked like a hook and her eyes were the meanest shade of grey, hidden beneath dark eyelashes matching her long, brown hair, which was braided and fell down her back. She was thin, but not fragile, and the look she gave Arthur reminded him of the old nobles he’d met back in Camelot, who had looked at him with eyes who’d seen many kings and monarchies fall and rise, who came from families older than any kingdom and which would last forever. Or so they’d thought.

None of them had.

The lady began speaking very fast, and Arthur was dumbfounded. Not only could he not understand her, he was not liking her tone and the way she kept pointing her finger at him.

Merlin appeared behind her and snapped his fingers, his eyes glowing gold for a moment, and then Arthur just knew what she was saying—even if he wished he didn’t—:

“That is quite enough, young man! Having our poor Merlin run around worrying about you when he already has two bairns to think about! You can’t make yourself a concern to a single father like that!”

Arthur looked at Merlin over the woman’s head and received an apologetic shrug in return. “Excuse me”, he said then, looking back at the woman. “Lady….”

She straightened her back, clearly surprised to hear him answer in a language he wasn’t supposed to speak, and offered him her hand.

“Rinaldi”, she said, as he kissed her knuckles softly. “Alexandra Rinaldi”.

“My name is Arthur”, he smiled his brightest, most princely smile. “I apologize for any inconvenience I might have caused you, Lady Rinaldi. I’m afraid the loss of my wife has wounded me deeply”.

Mentioning Gwen’s death hurt, but it also felt liberating somehow, like finally admitting that she was no more.

Mrs Rinaldi blushed slightly, clearly realizing that her outburst would only be met with kindness, and so she did what she was best at: correcting others.

“I’m not a noble, really”, she said. “Papa always said we used to be, but we’re not anymore, and my poor Albert was no aristocrat either. Just Mrs Rinaldi is quite fine, dear”.

He’d gone from young man to dear, which Arthur considered a definite victory, and Merlin was looking rather impressed, which was even better, so his smile this time was genuine.

“Mrs Rinaldi, it’s a pleasure to meet you”, he said. “I’m sure Merlin has some tea somewhere he can offer”.

“Yes, indeed”, Mrs Rinaldi said, taking the arm Arthur offered and forgetting all about Merlin.

A few cups of tea later, Mrs Rinaldi had joined the Arthur Pendragon fan club, and had even offered him the chance to join her friends and herself for tea sometime, if he ever needed to talk about his “dear wife”. As the hours passed, Merlin seemed to be growing more exhausted, until he finally fell asleep in the couch he’d kept for himself. Upon seeing this, Mrs Rinaldi decided it was time for her to go.

“Don’t let his daughter wake him for a while, dear”, she said before leaving. “Bal won’t be here for a few hours, and she grows bored rather easily”.

And with that, she left.

Arthur was inclined towards waking Merlin up, but when he saw him sleeping soundly, looking peaceful like he hadn’t seen since Camelot, he found himself unable to. So he wandered upstairs looking for the little female Merlin.

He found her in what seemed to be her room—considering the amount of dragons in the walls, it had to be, for Bal didn’t seem the type to enjoy flying lizards—, sitting at a small table in the company of a small thing that resembled a bear and—wait, was that....?—a toy resembling Gwaine?

She looked up to him and gave him a big smile. “Hello, King Arthur”, she said.

“Just Arthur is fine”, he said.

“But we’ve only just met”.

“Perhaps, but I’ve given you one of my secrets already”, he explained, sitting on the floor. “I should think that makes us friends”.

She hesitated for a second, clearly considering the complexities of good manners.

“Yes, I think so too”, she conceded eventually. Then, she took the doll that looked like Gwaine and handed it to him. “Did you know Gaine like Daddy did?”

Arthur took the doll, and a small, almost unwilling smile took over his features.

“Yes, I knew Gwaine”, he answered. “A good man”.

Vevvy nodded very seriously.

“Daddy says Gaine had a crush on him”.

Arthur looked back at her, astonished.

“Did he?”

Vevvy gave him a serious, suspicious glance.

“You don’t mind it, do you? Daddy says you’re very ancient so we have to be careful around you, but surely you don’t mind when two boys kiss”.

Arthur almost blushed. It was pretty safe to asume he didn’t, since he had thought about kissing Merlin some times in the past. Then, he frowned.

“No, of course I don’t”, he answered. “Tell me, do you know if someone who.... kisses boys can also like to...?” What was he doing, asking questions about love to a five year old child?

As it happened, the five year old was wiser than she looked.

“To kiss girls?”, she asked, and when he nodded, she smiled. “Of course they can! That’s why Daddy fell in love with my mummy but also with that boy all those years ago! What was his name? Michael? No, it was Marlon!”

She smiled triumphantly, and Arthur was torn. He wanted to jump with joy knowing that what he’d felt for many years wasn’t abnormal, but he was also very jealous of that Marlon person who’d gotten to...

‘To what, you clotpole?’, he asked himself. You never acted towards those feelings, and that’s why Merlin doesn’t know...

“Where’s Daddy?”, the girl asked, and Arthur remembered that he was supposed to be taking care of her.

“He’s asleep”, he answered. He didn’t believe that lying to children was a wise thing to do. “He was very tired”.

Vevvy looked sad.

“He’s always tired”, she said. “He works a lot”. Then, she seemed to have a bright idea because her whole face lit up and she kept talking: “I know! You’re a king, aren’t you? You could tell him to work less! He would have to obey!”

She looked so happy at the idea, and she’d looked so sad before, that he wanted to take her into his arms and promise her that he would find a way to keep her Daddy closer to her. He didn’t do it, though. He would probably scare her. Children had always seemed to find him intimidating.

And so he kept her talking, going on and on about her school, and her friends, and her brother, and her dear Daddy, until the evil teenager made an appearance.

“Hey, tick”, he said to his sister, his tone dry as ever, his eyes a tad softer. “Dusty king”, was all he said to Arthur.

“Ah, young Balinor”, Arthur answered, doing his best impression of an obnoxious noble. “I do hope your day was enjoyable”.

“It was better when I didn’t have to look at you”, the devil-child answered, and his sister huffed.

“Bal! Don’t be mean to Arthur! He’s my friend!” She said, and Arthur, for once, didn’t mind being defended by a lady.

“Thank you, my lady”, he told her, and she blushed.

“Hey, useless leach”, Bal said, completely disregarding his sister. She looked like she was about to pout, and it was a good thing that she didn’t, because then Arthur would have had to fight the boy and it would not have been a pretty sight.

Bal’s face softened at the sight, and his tone was considerably less rebellious when he continued: “Dad’s asleep at the sofa and I can’t carry him. Can you take him upstairs?”

Arthur nodded silently and left to get his... his friend. He heard Bal speak to his sister, his tone devoid of any meanness, and he was reminded of Merlin telling him that he was all bark and no bite. ‘As always, my friend’, he thought, ‘you were right’.

Merlin was in the exact same position he’d left him in, his face completely calm, and Arthur felt the old impulse to plant a soft kiss on his lips, just to see how he’d react, if he was as soft as he looked. He didn’t, of course.

He bent down and put an arm below Merlin’s knees, the other surrounding his back. Merlin’s head fell on his chest and his arms surrounded his neck automatically. Arthur smiled at that and started walking towards what he knew was Merlin’s room. Merlin was saying something unintelligible, and Arthur shushed him like he used to do when Guinevere had nightmares, the action so familiar his heart ached.

He was almost sorry to put Merlin down when they reached the bedroom, but he did, and then he made sure he was properly covered in blankets. He was turning around to leave when he felt something tuggin at his shirt. It was Merlin.

“Don’t go”, he whispered. “Alice, please, I can’t...”

Arhur’s heart clenched. He took Merlin’s hand, softly, and put it back down on the bed. Merlin’s face fell even as his eyes remained closed, and Arthur stroked his hair kindly.

“I’m not leaving”, he whispered, and his heart knew his words to be true even if his brain didn’t. “I’m never leaving you again”.

This time, when he turned, he saw a picture on the nightstand. It showed a woman, with light brown hair and bright green eyes like Bal’s smiling at the camera, holding a bundle—Vevvy— in her arms. A very smiling Bal stood beside her, looking at his sister even as his father took the picture.

It was her. Merlin’s wife, and the mother of his children. Alice.

Arthur approached the nightstand and took the photograph. She was beautiful. It broke his heart, to think of Merlin loving and loosing her, to think of Vevvy’s sad face when she was mentioned, of Bal’s anger.

He put the picture back where it belonged and left the room.


End file.
